Cornflowers And Golden Fields
by Mistofstars
Summary: It's a scorching hot day, and the Impala collapses in the middle of nowhere. Castiel and Dean have to continue by foot to find fuel, surrounded by endless cornfields. Future!Dean / Future!Castiel


**Author: **Mistofstars

**Pairing: **Future!Castiel / Future!Dean (as seen in 5x04)

**Warnings: **sappy, smutty, probably a little bit sad because it's endverse-based...

**Disclaimer: **Neither Castiel or Dean Winchester are mine, they belong to the creators and writers of Supernatural. No profit is made with this, no copyright infringement intended.

**Author's note: **I think I will never tire of the endverse, there are still a bunch of started fanfictions lying around here, waiting to be finished lol... this was just a brief idea... imagine it's a few months after the end has come, a good while before Camp Chitaqua... so Dean and Cas are not yet the persons we've seen in 5x04.

**Cornflowers And Golden Fields**

It is scorching hot, and the asphalt of the tattered highway seems to melt, as they drive along the deserted road. They're both sweating, and they're thirsty, but they're careful with their water supplies, so they save their breaths and speak scarcely. Their tongues feel swollen and their throats ache, so it's easier to just share sideglances and gentle, hesitant smiles, to show the other everything is alright – as good as can be expected under the circumstances. Castiel's wiry fingers tug at his blue, light tunic, and he fans himself to chill down his body temperature. Dean sees the sweaty strands around his temple, how a pearl of sweat trickles down his exposed throat. It's too damn hot, and in that moment, the Impala decides to collapse. They watch how the car becomes slower, surprisingly calm – they knew this was going to happen at some point. All the gas stations they had passed had no petrol, and their canisters were empty for a long while now, so, of course, they had run out of gas. It could have been worse, the car could have needed a repair, and replacement parts were as good as impossible to find – but Dean is frustrated nonetheless. As the car stops, he turns off the engine and punches the steering wheel angrily. They are in the middle of _nowhere_, a huge pampa of cornfields and little woods, and he knows how dangerous it is to be without shelter in the night outside. Troubles are behind them, and troubles are ahead.

This is a fucking disaster.

He lets his forehead fall against the steering wheel and listens to the crickets chirping loudly in the fields next to the street. He is thirsty and hungry and exhausted, and now his baby can't carry on as well. He closes his lids and sighs. Then there is a warm hand on his back, and it feels so damn good, when that hand strokes his back soothingly, ruffles through his hair, wet through with perspiration. Cas... He is always there when Dean feels like he's breaking down, and his mere, careful touch gives him enough comfort to fight on.

"Come on, we've got to find fuel somewhere...", Castiel insists, and his voice sounds thick and dark, hoarse even, and when Dean realizes how thirsty he must be, he straightens himself and grabs for his water bottle and holds it out to Castiel. His blue eyes are fixed on Dean's, the intense expression unreadable, and for a while he refuses to accept the bottle, but then Dean says "Please", and Castiel smiles wryly and takes it. He takes a slug of the luke-warm water, just enough to bedew his mouth, and Dean's eyes cling to the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he gulps. He returns the smile Castiel gives him and freezes, when he leans over and kisses his cheek briskly. He feels the stubble brushing against his cheek, and he smells Castiel's sweet sweat and the soap they share, and he inhales his beguiling odour deeply. Something stirs inside of him, as Castiel moves back and as he sees a fire flaring in his lucid, blue eyes. For a second, Dean allows himself to drown in the blue wells looking at him, and in that moment, he feels something akin to peace. He has no qualms about reaching out for Castiel's nape, and he pulls him close and lashes into him, and they kiss passionately, hungrily, as if it is the last time they can do this. His fingers dig into Castiel's soft, lengthy strands, and as their tongues glide together, he can feel him hum against his lips appreciatively. Heat churns within the depths of Dean's stomach, and another attack of sweating washes over him. When they disengage, breathless and scanning their slightly dilated eyes, he knows it's high time to let go for the sake of their safety. It's not the right time or the the right place – then again, it never is.

He nods his head towards the road, and Castiel understands. They grab the hand weapons and machine guns, bundle the ammunition and their scarce water and food supplies and get out of the car. They work together in silence, trained due to the last months, and it is practised, as they strap their bags with the few things belonging to them and as they get ready to walk for god-knows-how-long. Castiel nods grimly at Dean to show him he is ready, and Dean marvels at how fierce and resolute the fallen angel looks, with his weapons and the ridiculous tininess they call luggage. Truly, he is still a warrior, a soldier, and he can live with the hardships of a human life – but Dean wishes, he didn't have to experience human life like this. The apocalypse is taking place, and they're on the run, it seems, since forever – trying to survive, trying to kill as many monsters as they can. It's strenuous, dangerous and dirty, and Dean remembers the shock in Castiel's eyes as Dean had attended to his wounds a few weeks ago. He had to sew an ugly cut on his thigh, and Castiel had been so brave, how he had gritted his teeth, not used to feeling pain, and though tears had been welling in his eyes, he had smiled at Dean and asked him what was taking him so long. Dean sighs a heart-wrenching sigh, and begins to walk, straight through the lush, golden cornfields. Cutting across country had always spared them several miles, had protected them from unfriendly eyes. He hears Castiel following him, and together they walk through the fields silently, leaving the Impala behind.

The sun shines down on them, and beads of sweat are running down their torsos and faces in small rivulets. With attentive eyes they scan the area, searching for possible enemies or other living beings. There is no one here, it seems like this place is deserted within the radius of several miles. It means they can relax a bit, but it also shows them they will have to walk for a long while, possibly one or two days, until they find traces of humans. They walk until noon transcends into the early evening; the sun is less aggressive, and a fresh breeze rustles through the blades of corn. Castiel walks in front of Dean, and Dean sees how he becomes slower with each passing minute, dragging himself on, urging his limbs to work. His lean frame seems exhausted, and Dean observes his shoulders slump down. It's been another long, difficult day. It seems almost laughable to Dean, hadn't their situation been that bitter, how much they had changed. He used to be well-built and strong, and Castiel was a powerful angel, his forces unimaginable. Now they're two haggard, simple men, trying to survive at the end of time. Their bodies have become skinny, and though they're still strong and quick, their muscles are wiry and scrawny now.

Castiel is his support, but even he needs assistance from time to time. Dean's eyes search for something, which could help him cheer Castiel up. He finds a lonely cornflower, swaying to and fro in the balmy breeze between the golden blades, and he tears if off gently, a pensive smile on his dried lips. It's a beautiful flower, and its colour reminds him of Castiel's gorgeous eyes. It's weird – if things hadn't been so fucked up, they may actually be utterly happy. The end was here, and Dean is head over heels in love with the fallen angel. He catches up on Castiel and touches his boney shoulder to stop him. The dark-haired man turns around to him and halts, confusion written all over his face. He looks so goddamn tired, and Dean lets his luggage and weapons fall carelessly to the ground, then he uplifts his free hand and cups Castiel's pale face. He feels the stubble underneath his fingertips, and Castiel closes his lids for a moment, relishing the simple, however effective caress. Dean feels a tiny smile coming to life on his lips, and he lets his fingers stroke through Castiel's dark hair tenderly.

Castiel opens his eyes again, and Dean feels as if time stands still, as they look at each other softly. The wind plays with their clothes, tugs at the hems of their shirts and combs through their hair. They're surrounded by golden cornfields, and the orange sun is sinking on the horizon, its light refracts in their irises. Castiel lets his weapons and luggage drop as well, understanding, they wouldn't go further today. Dean's hand wanders down Castiel's throat and comes to rest on his shoulder; he brings his other hand up and holds the cornflower up, right next to Castiel's eyes, and his heart leaps into his throat, as he sees the knowing glance of his lover. Something breaks in Castiel's eyes, and he smiles weakly at Dean, as Dean compares the different shades of blue with each other. It's not quite the same colour, Dean realizes it can't compare to the million blue hues playing vividly in Castiel's stunning eyes. He loves how Castiel beholds him, how eased he looks. In an instant, Dean finds himself stroking Castiel's stubbly, pale cheek with the cornflower, and Castiel closes his lids sensually, solely focussed on Dean's blunt caresses. Soon the flower is forgotten, and Dean lets it fall to the ground nonchalantly, when he detects a faint blush colouring Castiel's cheeks, how his mouth stands slightly agape. He feels the tremor running through his lover's body, and desire eats Dean up. With both hands he frames Castiel's face and draws him in for a wild kiss, and they devour each other unrestrainedly.

It's frantic and downright consuming, how their hands grope each other, how desperate their kisses become as their searching fingers crawl underneath the hems of their shirts, craving for the flesh below the cotton. They pull apart for a brief moment, breathing heavily, as their eyes dart over the other man's face, estimating the situation. Dean is certain, he will never get over the way Castiel's pupils dilate, how he bites his bottom lip sensually, how the bright red stains his cheeks. Then Castiel's hands grab Dean's waist vigorously, and he pulls him close as he opens his jeans swiftly, their eyes never breaking contact. Dean can't restrain himself any longer; his heart constricts, and his body feels heavy with lust, so he leans forward and leaves open-mouthed kisses on Castiel's exposed throat. He feels him become rigid, as he gnaws at his neck and bruises the sensitive skin with his teeth, working on a hickey. Castiel sighs shakily, his hands stroke along Dean's back underneath his shirt, and he practically clings to him as they slowly lay down on the ground, forgetting the world around them easily.

Castiel wraps his legs around Dean's hips and grinds against him, while Dean uplifts his tunic and strokes along the flat plain of Castiel's stomach; his fingers pull at the blue fabric, so that the neckline of it shifts and reveals Castiel's protruding collarbone. Dean can't help but suck at it, and Castiel's fingernails scrape over his back as he moans and writhes underneath him. They're safe, rattles through Dean's brain, but they're aware enough to not undress, because they're not safe enough. He feels like they're both turning into beasts, as they lash into each other; lips bruising as they kiss harshly, fingers gliding into strands of hair and pulling, bones and flesh melting together the more they make out. Their sweaty torsos stick to one another, both they're shirts are pushed aside, and Dean loves how Castiel gasps for breath as they're dry humping, looking at each other through half-closed eyes. Castiel's face is as red as a beet, and he still has this aura of innocence around him, sex is still somewhat new to him. Dean undoes Castiel's jeans with skilled movements, and he pulls down his trousers and underwear in one go, and Castiel wiggles with his legs until the fabric hangs around his ankles.

A few moments later, Dean presses himself into Castiel, suppressing the fallen angel's agonized moan with rough, breathless kisses. They drown in each other's eyes as Dean enters him till the hilt, and Dean stills for a second, as he feels Castiel's narrow heat widening around his throbbing erection. A terrible weight falls off his shoulders, as he detects the littlest smile on Castiel's kiss-swollen lips. Whenever they make love, he feels less bruised, less damaged. It's like a slice of eternity belongs to them, when they're bodies melt together, when he hears the relief and the arousal in Castiel's lewd moans. There's still wonder in Castiel's dilated eyes, as Dean dares to begin the first, slow thrusts inside him, as if he can't overcome his senses overflowing with sexual craving. Dean sees his lids flutter, how his eyes roll into the back of his head; Castiel arches his back and moans quietly, and he shivers from head to toe whenever Dean slams into him. Dean looks down and sees Castiel is painfully hard, already leaking with precome. He feels his fingernails leaving aching bruises on his back, but those abrasions, compared to other wounds, are most welcome and excite Dean beyond imagination. He grasps Castiel's ass with both hands and uplifts his pelvis, so that he can pound into Castiel even deeper, and Castiel becomes a moaning, trembling mess. He's lolling in Dean's arms, and Dean feels his lover is close, as he twitches around him and as his hole tightens and quavers whenever he glides inside him.

The crickets around them chirp loudly, and their humming fuses with the swish of the blades moving with the wind. The ground is still warm, heated thanks to this warm summer day, but the heat radiating from Castiel's body is quite different. He practically glows, his cheeks are dark red, and Dean feels as if he's burning up, as Castiel constricts around him and meets his every deep thrust with welcoming rolls of his hips. He clings to Castiel's lips, as a lustful whimper escapes him, as he feels Castiel coming hard, tossing and turning in Dean's arms. He pants and moans by turns, his eyes compressed, as he fucks himself onto Dean's dick, and Dean feels relief washing over him, as his own orgasm approaches him like a warm, tidal wave. They hold on to each other, to crinkled shirts and warm sides, as their orgasms take over them, and for a blissful moment, they only feel euphoria and relief coursing through their bodies. Dean collapses on Castiel, and they still, utterly spent and satisfied. Castiel holds Dean in his arms, they both don't mind Dean is still buried inside his lover. For a while they can pretend it's just another ordinary summer day, that they're two careless lovers having sex in the cornfields, but soon they're aware again regarding their circumstances, and Dean unravels himself slowly from Castiel. However, there are sweet, small smiles on their mouths as they fix their clothes, and their eyes contain mellow glances, as they behold each other.

It feels natural, as Dean sits down on the ground beside Castiel, and as he pulls at his tunic gently, and Castiel gets the hint and lets his torso and head fall into Dean's lap, his legs remain on the ground next to Dean. Dean looks down at his lover's still flushed face, and he allows himself to stroke through his sweaty hair lovingly. He sees the affectionate smile on Castiel's plump lips. The fallen angel has his eyes closed, and he seems to savour Dean's gentle caresses. Sometimes Dean finds it hard to believe that Castiel is a human now – sometimes he's just so unearthly beautiful and pure, and it reminds him of that white light of Castiel which he had caught once or twice with brief glimpses. That light had been the angel's essence, and it had been so clear, so unblemished... He feels sorry for Castiel, for such a lucid being, to be trapped on this planet, cut off from Heaven and his powers. It's hard enough for him to fight against the apocalypse, and what he's lost thus far is more than he can bear – but he won't dare to compare it to Castiel's losses, they seem more severe and heart-wrenching. And still that son of a bitch decided to stay at Dean's side and to stand by him. He smiles secretly to himself and shakes his head in disbelief. His heart pounds savagely against his chest, as he continues stroking Castiel's ruffled hair tenderly. He hears his breathing becomes shallower, slower. Castiel is absolutely whacked.

"It's okay, Cas. Sleep... I'll take the first watch", Dean says quietly, and Castiel can only manage to mumble "Thank you, Dean", then he's already in a deep slumber. Dean's eyes travel over the sleeping body below, and he puts an arm around Castiel's side protectively. He smiles, deeply moved, when he sees Castiel holding the torn off cornflower loosely in his hand. Carefully he covers Castiel's hand with his own.

**THE END**

Thoughts? Comments? What do you think =)?


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